The Best Bar in Baghdad

You're not having: A glass of Mr. Bonjour

YOU'RE NOT HAVING: A glass of Mr. Bonjour.

We'll call it O'Malley's.

I won't tell you its real name. Not that I wouldn't want your company if you happened to be in town. But mentioning its name in print might get it blown up.

Bartending is something of a minority occupation in Baghdad these days. Saddam banned public drinking during his "faith campaign" of the mid-1990s, and since his fall, very few of the bars and clubs that once made the city a social playground have reopened. The U. S.--guarded Green Zone has hosted several bars, including a CIA-run place with a dance floor, a British Embassy "pub," and a "trailer tavern" for contractors. But outside of the zone, your choice is limited to hotel bars in secured compounds. O'Malley's is one of these places.

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The policy at the door is strict. After you get through the blast walls and armed guards, you have to check your weapons and your phone if it has a camera. Then it's a quick metal-detector scan and a pat down.

A narrow corridor leads into a small, cellarlike room hosting a motley Western and Arab clientele. The Westerners with the muscles are security contractors. The ones without are probably journalists. And the others? Well, I've never asked.

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The beer is Heineken or Amstel. There's a dedicated wine waiter who lords over exactly one choice of wine at any given time. That wine is Mr. Bonjour more often than not. It has a picture of a beret-wearing Frenchman on the bottle, presumably to remind you it's not vinegar.

Still, make the best of the drinking, because there aren't many other thrills on offer. The male-female ratio is twenty to one on a good night. Otherwise, the only entertainment is outdoing the other patrons with tales of near-death experiences. Many's the night I've recounted getting a bullet in my ass from a Shia militiaman in Basra. Many's the night when my story's been trumped by something scarier.

Nonetheless, as long as it's the only place I can go without getting kidnapped, beheaded, mortared, shot (again)--can I stop now? Mine's the Mr. Bonjour.